Four Times Jack Died
by Anya2
Summary: Four Times Jack Died And Martha Forgot She Didn’t Have To Save Him And One Time She Said ‘To Hell With This!’ - Martha isn’t just a doctor by training, she a ‘helper’ by instinct and that’s something she just can’t ignore.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Four Times Jack Died And Martha Forgot She Didn't Have To Save Him (And One Time She Said 'To Hell With This!')  
**Rating:** T  
**Pairing:** Some Jack/Martha  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Summary:** Martha isn't just a doctor by training, she a 'helper' by instinct and that's something she just can't ignore.

**Author's Notes:** This was never really intended to be a multi part but the parts just got too big and since each works as a mini ficlet (despite the 'story' running through the five of them) there's no real harm posting them as chapters.

* * *

The first time it happened again she just forgot. She didn't know how really. It was hardly something so mundane that it could easily slip your mind.

Still, she had been the one who'd brought the case to Torchwood, who had asked for their assistance since they knew the area so much better than she did, and she guessed that the sense of responsibility allied with a secret fear of something going wrong had made instinct somehow override sense.

She had described the Grak'mal to the rest of Jack's team as kind of like the alien mafia. Jack needed no further explanation, taking over and telling them more than even she knew. Apparently he'd come across the species before although he deftly avoided giving any details about the circumstances when she asked. He said it didn't matter. What did matter was that they were here, looking for some stolen property of theirs, and they would not stop until they got it back. And they weren't exactly the sort to ask nicely.

Martha knew that all too well. She'd already followed the trail of two brutal murders, the investigation of the clues leading her to Cardiff and Jack's door.

A little research and some local knowledge uncovered the fact that the goods were more than likely in the hands of a one of a few alien artefact collectors. Numerous such people lived in the immediate area, drawn by the bounty of objects that the rift brought through although she was pretty sure that none of them knew about the reason. It was their hobby, their obsession in most cases, and they didn't seem to question the whys and wherefores of it. Just thanked their good fortune.

And now they were all in very real danger as was anyone who the Grak'mal visited as they tracked their property down. Maybe they weren't so lucky after all.

Jack said that these transactions often went through dozens of people in order to try to keep the buyer's identity secret. The Grak'mal would work their way through each and every one of them until they reached their goal. It had the potential to be quite the killing spree. He suggested that the best way of dealing with it was for them to get the goods back first and then advertise the fact they had them. Then they could arrange a hand over to the Grak'mal. They weren't stupid creatures and they'd been on Earth enough in the past to have heard of Torchwood before. Jack bet that they were certainly aware that the organisation had more than enough unusual and high powered ordnance in its armoury to convince them that it was in their best interests to take the goods and leave quietly. If they could get the stuff back, he said, they could probably solve this with no more than a standoff and a few tense words.

Martha and Gwen would go and visit one of the collectors identified as a likely recipient, Tosh and Owen another. Jack insisted that they go armed. If they were really unlucky the Grak'mal could already be there, he argued. And even if they weren't there was a chance that some persuasion might be required; these collectors were often highly suspicious people and they may not believe that they really were in danger, thinking the visitors were just trying to steal their stuff. Martha raised an eyebrow at that – just what kind of persuasion did he have in mind? Jack read her perfectly though, reassuring her that he wasn't advocating shooting the guy in the leg or anything, just that if he saw they were armed, he would be less inclined to argue.

Jack also said that he knew of at least one more man in the area who could have possibly taken possession of the goods but that he was the most reclusive of them all. He and Ianto would stay behind, try to find out where the guy was currently living and, if successful, go and visit him.

After Jack's words of warning Martha had been expecting trouble but they'd only mentioned the Grak'mal to Ryan Warren, the collector they'd been assigned to, and he was more than willing to cooperate with them to the full. It seemed that he'd heard of this particularly species of alien before and wanted absolutely nothing to with them. Wise decision as far as she was concerned.

He swore that he didn't have the goods, nor did he know who did. He expressed a clear hope that the ladies would make that well known so the Grak'mal knew it would be a waste of time knocking on his door. Gwen pointed out that they didn't exactly have the alien mafia on speed dial. Warren said that didn't matter, he was sure they'd be running into them shortly. He'd heard on the grapevine that they knew Torchwood were interfering in their business and that they were not happy about it.

Martha and Gwen ran back to the car, Martha getting in the driver's side and Gwen busily trying to contact the rest of the team. She reached Owen and Tosh after a blissfully short number of rings. They were still trying to track down their collector who was apparently proving to be a lot more elusive than they'd first thought. Owen was starting to wonder if the guy was actually the guilty party, had heard what was going on and had scarpered. Tosh wondered if they were too late and the Grak'mal had already got to him.

Gwen explained carefully that they weren't one step ahead of the aliens as they'd first thought and that the pair of them had to be cautious. She suggested that they all head back to the Hub and think of a new, safer plan.

Calling the Hub she got no answer. No answer when she called Jack and Ianto's separate phones either. With Gwen being a former police officer, Martha expected to be berated for her controlled yet way too fast driving. The fact that she said nothing worried Martha even more.

Finally the car screamed to a halt, the tyres squealing in over worked protest as she parked as close to the Hub entrance as she could get.

They walked in cautiously, guns drawn, checking their corners, covering each other.

They found Ianto half way down the stairs, groaning in semi conscious protest when Martha rolled him over to check for injury. She forced his eyes open, relieved to see the pupils reacting properly even though he was still bleeding from a blow to the forehead.

"Stay with him," she ordered Gwen, a lost year of being in charge giving her the authority that some people wouldn't have credited her with.

Gwen protested that she shouldn't go down there alone but the words were lost from Martha's ears as she hurried down the remaining stairs. She knew that Gwen wouldn't leave Ianto alone in such a vulnerable state. Someone had to stay with him and someone had to check for Jack. And this was her mission so that someone had to be her.

The main part of the Hub was quiet. No sounds of working or talking. Not even Myfanwy's ear piercing squeals and squawks to interrupt the horrible still. Cautiously she stepped into the room, careful to keep the wall behind her so no one could sneak up on her. She had become very good at exhibiting caution, good at holding her nerve and anticipating death throwing itself at her at any moment. She pushed away the sounds of her beating heart and sharp, ready breaths, instead concentrating fully on checking out what was in front of her, eyes meticulously scanning section by section, taking everything in.

And then she ran, down the stairs and across the metal bridge over the river that ran through the middle of the room. She didn't care that her boots made an obvious racket on the metal as she ran, instinct kicking in as she saw the person lying face down, head bobbing lifelessly in the water.

It took everything she had to haul Jack out of the river and onto his back. He was big guy after all and a completely dead weight in her arms.

'Dead' being the operative word she realised. He was well dead. She could see that by the colour of his skin, ice cold and an unhealthy blue grey with no blood pumping through it. From the marks she had seen on the back of his shirt she guessed that they'd held him underwater until he drowned, unable to give them the information they wanted.

He was long dead. A good half hour at least. But she never was one to give up so easily. You never knew. Stranger things had happened. Miracles even.

Before she could really think about what she was doing, she tilted his head back and sealed her mouth over his own cold lips, breathing firm and steady. She ripped open his shirt with a single hard tug, buttons going flying, finding it easier to feel his sternum through the t-shirt he wore underneath. Her fingers found the right spot and then she was doing compressions too, counting and reacting in a way that had become second nature to her now.

She didn't stop to think it wasn't necessary.

She was concentrating so hard that she barely felt Gwen's gentle touch on her shoulder.

"It's all right sweetheart," she reassured, "You don't have to. Remember?"

Martha briefly glanced up to see Ianto sitting propped against the far wall, still clearly groggy and mostly out of it.

She couldn't stop. Instinct was too strong.

"Martha, stop," Gwen said, a little more concerned this time, her voice firmer. She was well aware that Martha knew about Jack's seeming immunity to death and obviously couldn't understand why she seemed to have suddenly forgotten the fact.

In truth of course Martha hadn't. But it wasn't right. Nothing inside her said it was okay to just sit there and doing nothing.

She'd pulled away to do another set of compressions when suddenly he gasped back into life, sitting up so sharply that he almost head butted her, hands gripping her arms so hard it was painful. He looked at her with shock for just a moment and she wondered if he knew what she'd been doing and if he was pleasantly amazed that she'd tried or simply thought that she was quite mental.

Then his body seemed to reset, coming back to some sort of sense, and he bent over sharply, coughing up enough water to drown any other man three times over.

She rubbed a hand reassuringly between his shoulder blades as he took a long moment to recover, her fingers still trembling with adrenaline.

Miracle or an affront to nature. She wasn't sure which view she adhered to yet.

Twenty minutes later her fingers were steady as she diligently stitched the wound in Ianto's head. She chatted lightly with the Welshman. She liked him. His droll manner, unwavering even as he flinched whilst she treated the cut, making her smile.

A smiled that paused and then faded as she looked over his shoulder and saw Jack eyeing her with silent intensity. He was watching her from a distance, arms folded across his chest. Scrutinising her, wondering what she was thinking. From his grim expression she was sure he didn't like what he thought he saw. Even caught out, he didn't look away and it was she who blinked first, turning her attention back to Ianto and trying to ignore the weight of Jack's ever present stare.

Some time later she walked into his office.

"I'm never going to get used to that," she blurted out, a confession of sorts.

Jack looked at her carefully for a moment. The hard expression he'd worn since seeing her in the medical area seemed to soften. She wasn't sure but somehow she thought he appreciated that. Welcomed her honesty. Liked the fact that she wouldn't hide it from him.

He used his foot to push out the chair on the other side of his desk, an invitation to sit down.

"You and me both", he said, a confession of his own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Four Times Jack Died And Martha Forgot She Didn't Have To Save Him (And One Time She Said 'To Hell With This!')  
**Rating:** T  
**Pairing:** Some Jack/Martha  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Summary:** Martha isn't just a doctor by training, she a 'helper' by instinct and that's something she just can't ignore.

**Author's Notes:** The show might have forgotten about Myfanwy but I haven't (hugs pterodactyl)

* * *

**Two**

_'Well this is familiar'_, Martha thought grimly before forcibly pushing the notion aside. She was getting more than a little fed up of 'grim' but she couldn't seem to shake it. Not with the harsh realism of the year that never was still so firmly rooted in her mind.

She tried to shake away her anger too. He didn't need or really deserve that even if she did secretly see his actions as unnecessarily carelessness. Getting yourself electrocuted to save your friends or family she could understand. Even doing it for a complete stranger or innocent being that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But for your resident pterodactyl? Your resident pterodactyl who'd brought the power line down in the first place? She couldn't say she was quite on board with that reasoning.

According to Jack it wasn't the first time Myfanwy had escaped. They'd tried to seal the room as best they could and she very rarely came down to floor level - Owen suggested that she had too much difficulty taking off in the small place and it made her feel vulnerable – so the door was never a problem. Even so, none of them had ever been up in the high, dark roof area of the Hub that she preferred to inhabit and despite the fact Jack insisted that, as far as he knew, there were no routes to the surface up there, on occasion she did manage to get out. Gwen had finally been the one to insist that a pterodactyl flying around Cardiff was certainly not ideal and that they should make an effort to investigate how she was getting free. They'd spent a sweaty, dirty and stifling two days crawling around the roof space but to no avail. Myfanwy was obviously quite the inventive escapologist.

Which, Martha pointed out, was hardly surprising. Wasn't it a bit cruel to keep an animal of her size cooped up in the Hub? No wonder she tried to get out and stretch her wings occasionally. She didn't see why they hadn't just flown her out to some remote island or something and set her free. But Jack dismissed that idea, saying it was too risky. They didn't really know what sort of range she had and they couldn't risk her being spotted or worse captured. Martha said that maybe he should have asked the Doctor to take her back to her own time when they'd dropped Jack off in Cardiff. He smiled slightly, amused, and just said that the Doctor was a bit funny about pets on board the TARDIS. And as fond as Jack was of her he wasn't going to waste one of the two uses of the Vortex Manipulator the Doctor had allowed him just to take her back home.

Martha got the feeling that he didn't really try that hard to find an alternative solution simply because he somehow seemed to take an oddly amused pleasure in having a pterodactyl as a pet. She jokingly suggested that she could get him a puppy instead but he'd simply smiled and said he was actually more a cat person. He never really did like being tied down too much. In the end he said the best they could do for Myfanwy was to keep her safe and well fed and, to be honest, she seemed relatively content with that situation too.

Except, Martha felt inclined to point out, she obviously wasn't or she wouldn't have escaped yet again.

Luckily it was late on a winter's evening and the sky was already well dark so that cut down on the chance of her being spotted. It also, Gwen pointed out, made her much harder to find. Even with the aid of the tracking device Tosh reminded them that she'd attached to the pterodactyl following her last escape.

Jack asked Ianto to contact the police and tell them that they were dealing with an escaped animal and they might be getting a few odd phone calls about sightings of a large flying creature. No need to panic, she wasn't really that dangerous and Torchwood would be on the case.

The way Ianto dryly said '_I'm sure that will be a comfort to them_' strongly suggested that the police hadn't always been best impressed with Torchwood in the past.

Ianto also suggested that they take the rifles and shoot her down, which was oddly harsh for him Martha thought. Jack gave him a firm look and said that wouldn't be necessary. She wasn't a great risk. Tranquilizer guns would do fine. Jack would take a rifle and only kill her as a last resort.

The tracking device led them to a street between a set of run down industrial buildings and a derelict car park. She was making a hell of a racket, squawking and screaming and sounding generally unhappy about things. The noises were drawing quite a lot of interest from patrons of a nearby pub and Gwen broke away from Jack, Tosh and Martha, saying that she'd try to feed them a story - escaped eagle or something - and keep them out of the way. Owen meanwhile would wait with the car and trailer, telling them to call him as soon as they were ready to load her onto the back.

Rounding the corner, thankfully out of sight of the pub, it became abundantly clear what Myfanwy was making a fuss about. She was far too big really to fit in the small alley between two buildings, her wings battering the side if she stretched them out full, but obviously the smell of the rubbish or something had proved too appealing for her ignore. Probably fish and chip papers or something. Jack had once mentioned that she had a fondness for that particular British classic.

On her way down to investigate she'd clearly knocked into a telephone pole which in turn had fallen onto a set of power cables and had brought them to the floor. They were now sparking dangerously, trapping her at the rear of the small alley, blue lines of electricity snapping in front of her, ominously reflected in the deep puddles of water the recent heavy rain had left behind.

Martha didn't really know much about animals but it was clear even to her that the pterodactyl was panicking and likely to make a bolt for it any moment. And when she did, chances were she'd be electrocuted as soon as she got anywhere near the fallen cables.

Jack slammed the rifle loaded with tranquilizer into Martha's hands.

"Stay back," he ordered both she and Tosh, a tone that demanded obedience, "Fire as soon as you have a clear shot."

"What are you doing?" Tosh asked as Jack shrugged off his coat, handing it to her and asking her to take care of it for him.

Martha had a pretty good idea but she was both too cross and too shocked to say anything about it, a sharp intake of breath doing little to steel her nerves.

"Just follow her," Jack said in the same resolute voice, "That drug is strong, she'll be down in less than a minute."

Neither of them made move to stop him. Martha refused to look, eye trained down the scope sight of the rifle, ready to fire as soon as she had a safe opening. Even so, out of the corner of her vision she saw Jack's body jerk violently as he grabbed the loose cable and heaved it away. She heard his cry of shock and pain, even though the action was planned and he knew from experience what was coming. She saw his body fly backwards, only stopping when it smacked into the chain link fence of the adjacent car park, his hands taking the cable with him.

And even though her instinct screamed at her to help him, she didn't fail to remember her job.

The moment she saw the opening, Myfanwy clumsily took flight. Too large and too awkward to be quick out of the alley, Martha's shot was surprisingly easily. The pterodactyl jerked more in surprise than pain as the dart hit her and she barely missed taking out the roof of the building as she flew up.

Tosh and Martha went after her, running hard, Tosh hollering at Owen to follow them as they shot out of the side street and back past the car. Jack had been right, the drug was quick. They caught up with her just a few streets away, circling unsteadily. She fell before they could reach her, down in between two buildings on the old industrial estate, a loud clanging reverberating around the area as she bounced the sides of the metal structures several times on the way down.

"I hope she didn't break anything," Tosh said quietly as they carefully approached to check she was all right.

"Probably be a good thing if she did," Martha said grimly, "Might stop her escaping again."

She was only half joking.

Owen arrived shortly after and between the three of them they quickly got her bound, covered in a tarpaulin and into the trailer attached to the back of the SUV. Martha tried not to think about Jack and the reason why he hadn't come to find them yet. She had become very good at focusing on what she was doing in order to block out the more unsavoury thoughts.

When they were done she announced that she was heading back to the alley with businesslike determination.

Owen nodded and said he'd drive back and pick up Gwen.

Tosh insisted upon going with Martha and even though she wished she wouldn't, Martha couldn't find adequate words to explain to her why she wanted to do this alone. She picked up Jack's coat which Tosh had carefully left in the car. She also took out the large medical kit. Owen looked pointedly at that but said nothing.

Wishful thinking made her believe that perhaps they'd find Jack well and on his feet, none the worse for wear. She wasn't surprised to be disappointed. He still laid exactly where he'd landed, awkwardly half sitting against the chain link fence, the exposed cable still spitting electricity and sending the occasional jolt through his body.

Tosh carefully hooked the cable away, noting that they needed to call the power company and get them out here to fix it before someone got hurt.

Martha nodded automatically but was too busy thinking to really hear what she said. As soon as it was safe to do so she was kneeling by Jack's side. She hauled him towards her and then laid him down on the floor as carefully as she could.

"Is he all right?" Tosh asked, standing a few, cautious paces away.

Martha felt it would be uncharitable to snap '_of course he's not, he's dead_' and so she said nothing, instead allowing instinct to guide her.

Amazingly enough there was some shallow breathing but certainly no pulse.

Martha almost laughed to herself as she ripped open his shirt, the more frivolous part of her mind suggesting that he did this on purpose to make her undress him.

"What are you doing?"

She didn't look back at Tosh, too busy preparing the defibrillator, but she could hear the confusion in the other woman's voice.

"I know what he's capable of," she said firmly, "But I don't see the harm in giving him a helping hand."

Neither apparently did Tosh because she voiced no more objections.

Three shocks later and he was awake in a sudden gasp of life although she wasn't sure if anything she had done contributed to it or if the unnatural had simply taken its course.

"Get this stuff back to the car," she said to Tosh, packing away the medical kit, half an eye on Jack who was still lying on the floor, shaking a little and taking his time to recover, "And you're right. You really should ring the power company."

Tosh looked mildly rebuffed by Martha's obvious dismissal but left anyway.

Martha would have to remember to apologise later.

She leaned over Jack who by now had calmed a little and instead was looking at her, silent and thoughtful. She carefully re-buttoned his shirt.

"I don't know if I should be mildly disappointed with this," he said, breaking the silence with a joke that came off somewhat flat with his still slightly pained voice.

Martha said nothing, eyes checking him over but not looking at his face. He was clearly discomforted by that but she couldn't help it. Her gaze settled on his palms and she held his hands in hers, carefully checking the electrical burns still evident there.

"When we get back to the Hub I should dress these."

"Martha," he gently reminded her, "You don't have to."

Her eyes flicked up to meet his as she handed him back his coat.

"I know."

Back at the Hub she didn't really know whether deep down he figured out why she wanted to do it or why it was so important to her but somehow she suspected that he did. It was in the way he did as she asked without comment or protest, sitting quietly whilst she meticulously dressed the wounds on his hands, already better than when she'd first seen them. It was in the way he gently chatted to her about nothing in particularly, keeping the mood light without insulting her seriousness with forced good humour.

It was in the way he kissed her forehead when she'd finished, a soothing, lingering gesture of understanding.

Before she left for the night he hugged her hard, whispering a quick thank you into her ear although she wasn't sure what it was for.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Four Times Jack Died And Martha Forgot She Didn't Have To Save Him (And One Time She Said 'To Hell With This!')  
**Rating:** T  
**Pairing:** Some Jack/Martha  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Summary:** Martha isn't just a doctor by training, she a 'helper' by instinct and that's something she just can't ignore.

**Author's Notes:** This was never really intended to be a multi part but the parts just got too big and since each works as a mini ficlet (despite the 'story' running through the five of them) there's no real harm posting them as chapters.

* * *

**Three**

Martha's feet hit the floor hard and fast and she tried to force herself to take lighter steps so that her legs wouldn't tire so quickly. She was good at running. She had spent a year of her life doing just that, mostly on her own but with the knowledge that it wasn't just her own fate at stake giving her the strength to continue. Now wasn't much different if she thought about it although it was admittedly on a less grand scale. She was in a residential area. Husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, children and grandparents all slept in the dark houses around her. She had to keep running and she had to keep it chasing her. She couldn't let it turn its attention to one of the houses instead.

Sometimes she felt like she hadn't stopped running since she'd met the Doctor. And sometimes she felt that if she did stop she would no longer feel alive.

She paused for the smallest moment, taking in a few grateful breaths whilst she waited for the Weevil to round the corner and spot her once more. Even with their odd gait the creatures were fast and she began to run as soon as she was sure it had spotted her, knowing it would catch her if she hesitated.

The number of Weevils that had come through the Rift recently was worryingly high. Jack said perhaps a concentration (a pack?) of them had been unfortunate enough to get caught by it. Tosh was taking readings but coming up with nothing. Owen just said it was indicative of their bad luck.

Whatever the reason, capturing them was taking most of Torchwood's time. And even tonight, Martha's first night off in a long while (and only taken on Jack's insistence) it seemed that she wasn't immune to that. She'd just been walking out of the supermarket, a few basic essentials held in two bags, when she'd heard the scream. Instinct had made her run towards it, a worrying trend she was sure she had picked up from the Doctor. Behind the building, back where the bins were kept, an employee had obviously popped out for a sneaky fag and was now being snarled at threateningly by a Weevil. Martha had dropped her bags instantly, taking out of the first heavy thing she could find – a tin of something or other – and had thrown it hard in the Weevil's direction. It bounced almost comically off of the creature's head and it turned instantly, snarling at her instead, giving the terrified worker a chance to run back inside.

Which was all very well but she had neglected to think of a fitting conclusion to her plan. So she did the only thing that seemed sensible in the situation. She ran.

As she did so, knowing that the Weevil was following without having to look, its snarls and growls giving it away, she pulled her phone from her jacket pocket and hit the two keys required to speed dial Jack.

It was noisy where he was. Sounded like a bar or something.

She half hollered down the phone at him when he asked if she could repeat what she'd just said because he couldn't hear her. The second time he obviously did catch it because he hurriedly told her he was on his way and hung up. Not exactly the reassurance she was looking for but she just had to trust that he'd find her. She certainly couldn't stop running. She was at least a couple of miles away from the bay and the relative safety of the Hub but decided to head in that direction anyway. She very much doubted she could outrun the Weevil all the way there but it seemed the sensible place to go for rather than just running aimlessly. Besides, it was probably the direction Jack was coming from.

Half tripping on a loose paving slab, cursing Cardiff City Council under her breath, her hands reached out and grabbed onto the nearest thing to her to keep her upright. It was a metal fence and, she noticed, a few feet away was the gate. It certainly would be quicker to run through the small park than around it.

She sprinted through the gate and down the path before heading onto the grass area, taking the most direct route to the gate on the opposite side. The grass was uneven underfoot though and she veered right slightly, taking herself across the soft, safety conscious floor of the play area instead, not wanting to fall and twist her ankle or something. As she rounded the large wooden climb frame she took the smallest glance back to check that the Weevil was still following her. It was and it was getting closer.

Her lungs were aching with every deep breath of cold air and her legs were tired but she forced them to continue.

At least until she turned back again and came to a very sudden stop as she barrelled directly into someone running from the opposite direction.

Jack.

His hands were strong as they grabbed her arms, bruisingly hard but keeping her on her feet.

"You okay?" he asked, obviously relieved, all his attention on her.

Martha had no time to warn him.

She guessed the Weevil must have leapt at them from both the sudden vicious growl behind her and the widened shock in Jack's eyes. She had little time to contemplate it though or to brace herself as Jack threw her roughly to the floor. Her head bounced sharply off of the ground and even though it was soft, rubbery safety flooring she still saw stars and felt instantly nauseous.

That feeling wasn't helped by Jack's scream of pain.

As soon as she was able she pushed herself up a little, turning to look. The Weevil was on top of him, trying to take out his throat, Jack desperately trying to fend it off and already having great difficulty.

Martha forced herself to her feet, her head spinning and stomach lurching. Blinking hard, trying to get her eyes to cooperate, she noticed, not more than a few feet away, part of a tree branch lying on the floor. Easily as big as her arm, it had probably been left there by some troublesome teenagers or by a dog who'd eventually got bored of carrying it around on his walk. It wasn't great but it was the only weapon she had.

She picked it up and ran towards them, swinging it hard as she could at the Weevil's head. It yelped more in surprise than anything, its thick skull not so easily damaged, and turned its attention angrily on Martha once more, the jagged teeth in its mouth painted with flesh and blood. She walked a few paces back as it stood, crouched ever so slightly, preparing to attack as it snarled at her.

Her eyes flicked back to the piece of wood. Smacking the Weevil wouldn't stop it. She'd have to try something a little different.

Without further provocation it leapt at her. Martha often wondered if her reflexes and aim were still as good as they had once been when honed by her year of rough travel on the run. She got her answer as she stabbed the sharp, broken end on the branch at the Weevil's face, aiming for its eye and hitting her target. It immediately backed right off, howling in pain and grabbing at its face.

Without a thought Martha rushed to Jack, kneeling down at his side. He was badly injured, the shirt at one shoulder in tatters and a deep, bloody wound on show. She thought he may be unconscious until he coughed violently, body racked with pain.

"My gun," he whispered hoarsely, a gurgle of blood in his voice.

She nodded, numb with shock, finding it in the shoulder holster on his uninjured side. She took it, hands slippery with his blood and shaking slightly with adrenaline, standing to face the Weevil once more.

It looked at her with pure venomous hatred now, a bloody mess where one of its eyes had been. She wondered not for the first time how sentient they really were.

That didn't stop her shooting when he came at her again though. She had no choice. If it got away, people's lives were at stake, not to mention her own.

Five solid rounds to the chest knocked it down. She heard its last snarling breaths as she dropped the gun and knelt down to Jack's side once more.

"Is it dead?" he asked with some struggle, trying unsuccessfully to mask the pain in his voice.

She nodded, peeling back his bloodied shirt and trying not to take too sharper breath when she saw the extent of his wound. It was bleeding extensively, some of the flesh obviously gone, bone exposed. He must be in agony.

"Bad uh?" he said, forcibly jovial through gritted teeth.

She guessed the expression on her face told him that.

"Well very much better me than you," he pointed out bluntly. The idea that he'd done this to stop her from getting hurt just made her feel worse.

"You'll be okay, all right?" she said in her most reassuring doctor's voice, the one that practice had allowed her to make sound calm and confident no matter how she truly felt inside, "I've just gotta find something to stem the bleeding a bit..."

He shook his head weakly, hardly having the strength to do so.

"It's okay".

She ignored him, glancing around for anything useful whilst briefly musing on the fact that he trying to soothe her was utterly ridiculous given the circumstances.

She dug in her jacket pocket but her phone was gone. She quickly spotted it lying no more than a few feet away but as she retrieved she noticed to her dismay that the screen was shattered and unreadable. She must have landed on it or something when she fell. No calling for help then. She'd just have to hope that Jack had told the others where he was going before he left.

She shrugged off her thin jacket and bunched it up, pressing it against the wound, using the only thing to hand. He was losing far too much blood, his whole shirt one side stained red and a small pool forming on the ground beside him.

He cried out in sheer agony as soon as she applied the pressure.

"Please, Martha..." he begged, part sob, part gritted teeth, his body arching off the floor and his face going even whiter than it already was, "Please...just leave it."

"I can't just let you die," she insisted, hating how much her voice shook when she was trying to be determined. Perhaps it was because deep down the realist in her knew she had no choice in the matter.

"There's nothing you can do," he pointed out between increasingly laboured breaths, "It's okay, it'll be okay".

Despite the effort involved he managed to lift a violently trembling hand up to her face, softly stroking her hair.

"Just stay here," he asked and for a moment, as she knew his brain was shutting down, starved of blood and oxygen, the mask slipped and he looked genuinely afraid, "Stay with me, I don't want to be-"

The words stopped and his face seemed to turn off like a light going out. It was something she'd seen too many times before. The hand in her hair fell limply down and in instinct she picked it up again, holding it hard, wondering that if she squeezed firmly enough he'd be able to feel it wherever he was.

It was all she could do for him and she hated it.

At first the world around her was silent, as though nature was still too afraid to make itself known. Then, almost cautiously, some bird song started and she frowned, wondering what daft bird was singing at this time of night. Her brain kept itself busy trying to recall what it might be from the knowledge unwittingly absorbed from those Sunday morning wildlife shows she'd often caught as a mildly hung over student after the one night she allowed herself off a week. As she rattled through the possibilities – nightingale, song thrush, robin... – one hand still held his, the other comfortingly brushing at the hair near his forehead.

Watching the wound in his shoulder suddenly begin to knit together - bone covering muscle once more, skin healing without a trace that any injury had ever been there - was both fascinating and disturbing, the scientist and the doctor in her arguing about their responses. Whichever won out though it only served to make her feel how wrong he really was. Just the like the Doctor said.

His eyes open accompanied by an all too familiar gasp of fresh, grateful breath. His hand clutched hers, his knuckles sheet white and it hurt but she said nothing.

After a moment he looked at her, his gaze darting down and then quickly back up to her face. For a moment she thought he was actually checking out her breasts in the tight white shirt she was wearing before she looked down herself and realised that the shirt was no longer white but red. Covered in his blood.

He seemed distinctly uncomfortable with the fact although she wasn't sure if that was for her sake or his own.

She didn't get a chance to ask, barely a moment to say 'hello' before the sound of running footsteps was heard. As they arrived Owen trained his gun on the Weevil, prodding it with the toe of his shoe to check it was as dead as it looked. Gwen knelt by Jack's side, asking him if he was okay.

Martha knew the hands helping her to her feet were Ianto even though she didn't look back at him.

"Come on," he said kindly, placing what she assumed was his jacket around her cold shoulders, "Let's get you cleaned up."

She didn't look back at Jack as she was led away.

Back at the Hub Jack found her leaning against the edge of his desk, reading some case notes, wearing the shirt he had offered her whilst Ianto was apparently working miracles on her clothes to get the blood out of them. It was way too big on her of course but long enough to be just about decent whilst she waited.

"You know," Jack said, grin on his lips as he stood in the doorway, arms folded and eyes appreciating the view, "There's something about a woman wearing a guy's shirt. It's ridiculously sexy."

He looked immaculate, change of clothes, cleaned face. Not at all like someone who had pretty much had their throat ripped out earlier in the evening.

It wasn't right.

"Maybe," he continued jovially, "I should ruin your clothes more often".

She glanced up at him briefly from the report.

"I'd rather you didn't", she stated quietly.

The sudden seriousness on his face convinced her that he knew exactly what she meant.

He crossed the room in silence but she didn't looking at him. From the clinking of glass and the sound of liquid she wasn't surprised when he pushed a tumbler of what looked like whiskey into her hands.

"You look cold," he explained at her curious glance.

She accepted it and he placed himself beside her, leaning against the desk too as she continued to read.

"Sorry about pushing you to the floor," he said after a moment.

"Don't worry. You saved my life."

"No permanent damage then?"

"Just a bruise on my head."

She couldn't help but look up when his fingers were gently in her loose hair, pushing it away from her forehead to check out what she claimed.

She shivered just slightly when he pressed a soft kiss to the spot.

Then he slipped an arm round her shoulder, pulling her a little closer.

"You still look cold," he explained.

She smiled slightly in return.

They waited in silence for Ianto to return with her clothes.


End file.
